Six Times She Defied Him
by OutCold
Summary: Oneshot. Six times Ziva David defied her father, then she didn't have to anymore. Pre-seasons and post-seasons parts, as well as spoilers for 'Kill Ari'.


_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS and I'm making up all the pre-series stuff._

_Warning: Contains mentions of domestic abuse and child abuse._

_Spoilers: 'Kill Ari Part 2' and mentions one little line from 'Probie'._

_A/N: I don't want to know if I've got some really small detail about Ziva wrong, but tell me if you consider it very important._

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She remembered the first time; she always would, because she knew now that it was probably a mistake. But she couldn't quite bring herself to regret it, because without it she wouldn't be here. _Here_ being on the stairs to Gibbs' basement, in a complete mess. And she didn't regret that either.

The first time had been to protect Ari. She had been ten, and he had been fifteen. Ari had taken her on holiday to Paris, she had been so excited to be travelling without an adult, but Ari had seemed so much older that year, it had sort of been the same. Still, she adored him, and she adored Paris. On their way back, Ari had left her in a B&B for a few days on the outskirts of Tel-Aviv. He had paid the woman who ran it to keep her safe, and bring her food, and he had told Ziva not to leave the house. He was only fifteen, but it was not until Ziva had travelled more that she realised fifteen year olds were not meant to be like this. His intensity had scared her, but he was her big brother, so she did as she was told. She trusted him. Blind trust was not, however, a cure for insatiable curiosity, and when he returned she interrogated him relentlessly about where he had been. He had pulled her aside, and spoke in a low voice, although nobody was near. His words replayed in her head now.  
"I was visiting my mother. You cannot tell Father, Ziva. Please."  
To the best of her knowledge, her father had never been adverse to Ari visiting his mother, but she realised now that he liked to control these visits, liked to control his children, especially Ari. She also realised it was during this visit that Ari's mother had died, and this was later one of the reason's he betrayed Mossad. At the time she had been shocked with the weight of the decision that had been placed upon her. Her father had always enforced her loyalty to him, but her loyalty to Ari did not need to be enforced. While her father was her leader, her brother was her team-mate. She would always be loyal to Ari first and foremost. Now, in the basement where she had killed her brother, she snorted quietly at the cruel irony. And she had begun to watch her father with Ari, and she stopped accepting everything he said. Unfortunately, it had taken her a while longer to break out of that habit with Ari.

The second time had been for her mother. Ziva had been thirteen. Her parents had a blazing row. Ari was on some sort of 'expedition', he usually protected Ziva, comforted her, and stopped her doing anything stupid when her temper flared up. But this time he wasn't there. He couldn't stop her from creeping down the stairs, couldn't cover her ears from her father's coarse expletives and cutting words. Her big brother couldn't protect her, and when her mother was thrown into the wall, and lay bleeding and unconscious on the floor, when her father callously left the woman to die, Ziva David was alone. But she couldn't have done what she did if Tali hadn't come in the door. Her younger sister had been staying at a friend's, and was dropped off at the gate. In his blind rage, her father attacked Tali's petite ten-year-old frame, and stormed out of the room. Both mother and daughter lay on the ground. Later, Ziva would make excuses, 'he didn't know what he was doing', etc., but this was the first time she truly hated him. Her father had thought she was in bed, he didn't realise she was practising her newly learnt first aid. When neither of them woke, Ziva knew with a cold, eerily calm certainty what she had to do. Now she remembered Tony asking who had taught her to drive, her reply of,  
"I did."  
It certainly wasn't how she had wanted to learn, with her mother and Tali bleeding out in the backseat. To this day, she didn't know if she had caused any accidents on that drive, but once she got the idea, Ziva had driven like she had from that day onwards. She had driven like she was trying to save her mother and her sister's lives.  
"Honey, do you want us to call your father?"  
At the age of thirteen, Ziva knew her father drank after arguments, and she knew her father was why they needed surgery.  
"He's out of the country at the moment, please, just save my mother. Save my sister."  
They had believed her without question. An expert liar, even then. Hours later, after the operations, the hospital staff had told her she was very resourceful, clever, brave; that she had saved her little sister's life. She didn't feel resourceful. She didn't feel clever. She didn't feel brave. She wished she could have saved her mother. She wanted to call Ari. She and Ari weren't the same as they used to be, he was more integrated into Mossad, but she still turned to him. He was away though, so she finally told the hospital how to contact her father. As they waited for him, she cradled her sleeping sister awkwardly in her arms. She thought of her mother, crashing into the wall and sinking to the ground. She heard herself speak,  
"I will never let him hurt you again,"  
She thought of Ari, the pain and then the detachment in his eyes,  
"I will never let him destroy you,"  
She thought of herself, how she spent less time with her friends and devoted it to her training. It was something she felt duty-bound to, but that distance wasn't something she wanted for her sister,  
"And I will never let him take me away from you. My beautiful Tali, you will be the best of us, I promise. I will keep you safe."

The third time was for her. At fifteen, she now knew why Ari had seemed mature at the same age. She worked hard, studied and trained. She was an obedient daughter, a patriot-in-training, a well-disciplined little soldier. And she needed some proof, just for herself, that she was still in charge. That she was still herself. She had it done on holiday, so that no news could get back to her father. It was just on her inner thigh, not to be noticed by anyone but her. Her small row of blue flowers. Considering the purpose of the tattoo, forget-me-nots seemed appropriate. It was a small sign, but it improved her feeling of self-sufficiency drastically. She wished she could have had it done legally, but she was fifteen, alone, and her father had contacts everywhere. So she had snuck out to a small town in Crete, cycled there. She and the man found a common language in French, and he had asked her if she was sure, a particularly considerate criminal. She was sure. Afterwards she had played cards on the harbour with him and some of his friends. Some of them smoked something, she wasn't sure what it was, but she stuck to her summery cocktail, breathed in their fumes, laughed, relaxed and briefly enjoyed being free. The next morning she returned to Tel-Aviv with a better understanding of the balance between work and play.

The fourth time was for Tali. Sensing Ziva's protectiveness, her father had held back on his lectures about Israeli duty, but when she turned fourteen, it was too much to hope he would wait any longer. Ziva saw Tali begin to get sucked in, as she herself had, and told him that she thought she should take Tali on holiday, 'show her a little more of the world'. He had been reluctant, but she insisted, and they spent the next month touring Europe. All over, Ziva would point out people, situations, and Tali would find some sympathy for them, sympathy Ziva herself couldn't find as easily, but that she was glad her sister could. All over, she pointed out people in need of help, kinder, less costly help than Mossad could provide. Then, at the back of an overcrowded bookshop in Glasgow, she asked,  
"What do you want, Tali?"  
She kept that part of her promise. Tali had no more interest in war or fighting. Tali wanted to be a doctor.  
"A doctor who travels abroad to where terrible things are happening and helps as much as they can," she had said.  
Her father wasn't happy at having his last recruit stolen from him. Tali reminded him of the night he had killed his wife, and now she was refusing to join Mossad, but Ziva was the one his anger fell on, for that night and for this. They stared at each other, another part of the rope that bound them together fraying. Silently she had told him, _  
'You have me. You cannot have her too.'_

The fifth time was for Gibbs. It didn't come for quite a while. Tali's death secured her loyalty to the army, then Mossad and her father. When it did come, she was twenty-six. She heard her brother, who she had thought she would be unwaveringly loyal to for the rest of their lives, confess to treason. And she knew, she knew he had gone crazy. Crazy in a scary, calm way. Crazy enough to kill an innocent man, a_ good_ man, because he reminded him of their father. She listened as he confessed himself a monster, and professed their father the same. She listened to his chuckle, the one he used to use when he knew he had beaten her at chess, but decided to let her play a little longer. And then the one he used when he was bored, and decided to put her into checkmate. His eyes seemed so much emptier, his laugh so much more hollow. He seemed so much more hollow, a shell of the boy she loved. She still loved him. He was her big brother. He had held her when her father had yelled; he had broken the nose of an older boy who had pushed her to the ground when she was just seven. But he was not her Ari anymore. There was no hope for him. Gibbs was a good man. She could no longer say that for her brother. And if she let him kill Gibbs? Of course she thought about it. But how could she face this warped version of Ari, knowing what he had done? These thoughts passed through her head so quickly, yet the feeling of the trigger resisting her unwilling finger took several seconds to register. She looked down and the shock of seeing his body hit her. After tearful revelations, Gibbs left her in peace to mourn. In death, he was her Ari again.

The sixth time needed to be done. She was thirty years old. Her father called, ordered her back to Israel. Said her time in America was making her soft, that she needed to be reminded what Mossad was about. She didn't believe she would say the words in her head, but they were out of her mouth before she could think.  
"What if I don't want to?"  
"Officer David, this is _not_ up for discussion!"  
"No, _Director David_, it's not."  
"I will fire you if you are not home by next week."  
"I quit."  
The silence was deafening. The phone let out a high-pitched wail, telling her he had hung up. Director Vance had called her up to his office. She had seen the look on his face, and handed him her badge. He took it, saying,  
"I'll have your new one within the week."  
"Sorry?"  
"I presume you'll want the 'officer' changed to 'agent'? Unless you want to go back to Tel-Aviv . . ."  
"Are you –"  
"Just say you'll work for me, Ziva."

She grinned at the memory. She was happy . . . ecstatic, to be working at NCIS without Mossad looming over her, but it was hard to give up what you've worked you're whole life for. So she had come to Gibbs' basement, which had strangely become a place of comfort for her. She heard a clattering as people entered the open door. Tony, McGee, Gibbs and Abby were dressed up.  
"Come on Ziva," encouraged Tony.  
"Back to your place to change first," said Abby, observing her cargo pants and basic t-shirt with disdain.  
Seeing her confusion, McGee explained,  
"A not-so-wise man," here he glanced at Tony, "once told me, that when the going gets tough, the tough go clubbing."  
"And," growled Gibbs in mock anger, "a very intelligent woman," he paused to glower at Abby, "once told me if I didn't help cheer you up, she'd kill me and leave no forensic evidence."  
Ziva laughed and stood, and as they walked out the door, she thought maybe at last she'd found the right people to be loyal to.

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_Pretty pretty pretty please review. Reviews make me happy._


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